The Life of Charlie: The Second Son
by MaxRide05
Summary: If there was one thing that could be said about Charlie Weasley, it was this: he loved his family. Honest, he did. Only sometimes, they got on his nerves. :: series of oneshots that can be read as standalones or as part of the same 'verse. Other genres include: humour, friendship and angst.
1. i: a study in red

The Life of Charlie:

The Second Son

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. This disclaimer stands for all the vignettes I post.**

**Written for the Family Boot Camp Challenge, and the Fantastic Beasts Challenge.**

If there was one thing that could be said about Charlie Weasley, it was this: he loved his family.

Honest, he did.

Only sometimes they got on his nerves. Like today.

Tomorrow, Bill was leaving for Hogwarts. Mum said that while he was gone Charlie would be the oldest in his place.

Charlie knew what that meant. It meant he had to help mum around the house, and with the younger Weasleys, even more than he already did. He had to be someone the younger children looked up to, a role model. A model of good behaviour who followed the rules and didn't act out. And he had to do _all that_ while keeping up with the work mum set him. '_Homework_,' she called it. That made no sense to Charlie - he was always _at home_, so what other work would it be?

Without Bill, he didn't know how he was going to cope.

Bill was the one who calmed his nightmares by sleeping in the same bed as him. Bill had the same nightmares himself; sometimes Charlie would awaken to the sound of a child's cry and Bill's fingers would be digging into his arms. Once Bill had buried his nose in Charlie's hair, breathing him in, his hands shaking.

Charlie had snuggled closer to his big brother, feeling... _almost safe_. It had been the first time he felt like that after waking up in the middle of the night.

Right at that moment Charlie was sitting on a broom, sideways - his legs both on one side. His socked feet (he hadn't stopped to put on shoes) were swinging back and forth. He could see the orchard beneath him; he wasn't that far up.

_Still, _Bill would have said, "It's dangerous to sit like that."

To which Charlie would have replied, "It's exciting, you mean. I like it. It makes my heart beat _really_ fast - _I like it_." And then he would have smiled up at his big brother, who, after trying to look stern, would have smiled back.

He was going to miss Bill _something awful_.

Bill who was probably still in the kitchen at that very moment.

Charlie could still hear Ginny's high-pitched keening, even from up in the air.

She hadn't stopped for _ages_, like she knew Bill was leaving. Now, while Charlie had _shared_ that sentiment, the sound made him want to rip his ears off. It seemed like there was always someone screaming in that house.

Earlier, when Charlie had gone to the kitchen to grab a bucket and scrubbing brush, one twin hadn't stopped making these strange noises. It had been a while before someone figured out that it was laughter. Why the twin was laughing, well, that was _one_ question of the day.

When Charlie had walked through the kitchen the second time, Bill had been crouched in front of the laughing twin. "Why are you laughing, Fred?" He'd asked, curious.

"That's George," Percy had said, standing beside the other twin. Both hovered behind their mother, who was rocking Ginny.

"Are you sure?" Bill asked.

Percy shrugged, looked to their mother for an answer, but she had none to give. (Charlie'd had a sneaking suspicion even she didn't know who was who. Both twins had been dressed the same; right down to their socks. They always were for some reason, as if their clothes had been duplicated with a spell.)

That's when Charlie had left them there, in the kitchen, and gone outside for some peace and quiet. And that was what he had now, as Ginny's cries had stopped, but he still wasn't any happier. Before he'd passed through the kitchen, he'd been clearing up Ron's vomit in the sitting room. The smell had almost made _Charlie_ vomit. He'd had to clean it up by hand, too. No magic -but wasn't that always the way when it came to chores?

When he'd finished, he sat back on his heels, thinking that was it. How naïve he'd been.

Because that was when Ginny had started to scream. He'd felt a headache starting to pulse behind his eyes. And he remembered thinking: _And so it begins_.

Charlie wondered what it would be like to just fly away. He felt like the wind teasing his hair, and caressing his skin, was beckoning him. Beckoning him towards the big, wide world outside of the orchard.

He could do it.

He _could_ just let the wind take him. What was stopping him?

Charlie had never strayed from the boundaries of the orchard, he didn't know why. But he _wanted to_, now. He wanted to _so much_ that he ached.

Still, as he couldn't remember ever leaving the familiarity of his home, the thought of the outside world was a bit daunting.

Also, just a little bit _exciting_.

A smile curved his mouth.

Then his dream fell to pieces around him when he heard his name on the wind. Someone was calling him. _Calling him back_. One of his brothers, probably Percy - he was less conspicuous than the soon-to-be Gryffindor, Bill.

Charlie didn't want to go. Oh, it hurt him to think such things but he didn't. Want. To. Go.

Not back down _there_.

If there was anywhere he wanted to go, it was _away_. Away from here. Away from them.

He immediately felt guilty. He moved closer to the house, ignoring the wind whipping his hair, pulling him back.

_No further_, it seemed to cry to him. _No more..._

_I can't_... He thought, sadly. Charlie continued to move closer. The voice calling his name became louder - as did the cries of the wind, it seemed.

Undaunted, he stayed on his course, towards the house. If his mum hadn't already seen him outside, flying when he wasn't supposed to, she would if he didn't get down soon. And she'd give him such a beating he wouldn't be able to walk straight after, he was sure of it. Not that it was his fault his parents had forgotten to lock up the brooms, they had the twins to thank for that. Running them ragged, they'd been, and then there'd been Ron and his sick stomach; Ginny and her keening.

Even so, Charlie didn't think his mum would care to know _that_.

He touched down on the grass. Looked behind him and up; up at the grey sky that seemed to reflect his mood. The wind wasn't as strong down here. But it still felt like his only chance had slipped out of his grasp. It felt like Charlie was stuck here now.

He held in a sigh, turned back to the Burrow. Took his first step towards what awaited him for the rest of his life, if he let it.

Charlie intended to do anything _but_ that.


	2. ii: cry me a river

**Written for the Family Boot Camp challenge.**

Charlie felt like he'd been crying nonstop since Bill left. His big brother had left a hole behind; sometimes Charlie felt as if it was a hole _in his_ _head_.

Whenever Charlie went outside, to the orchard, he expected to look up and see Bill, already flying on his broom, hand raised in a wave as he looked down at Charlie. Or lazing on a high tree branch, dangling legs and bare feet the only visible part of his older brother. Instead there was nothing. _No Bill_. Charlie's eyes would start to sting every time he looked up, up to the sky, up a tree, and there was no Bill to greet him.

Whenever Charlie went to the table to eat, he expected to see Bill across from him, making faces at their younger siblings. Making them and Charlie - rarely Percy - laugh. Then he'd look, _really look_ and Bill wouldn't be there. Whenever someone else would move as if to sit across from Charlie, he'd want to cry out, _no, don't sit there. That's Bill's seat_. He never did, a few times he even had to bite his tongue so he wouldn't.

The nights were the worst. Charlie had always assumed that when his younger siblings grew up - Ginny and Ron, especially - he and Bill, when they were home from Hogwarts, would share a bedroom. It felt to Charlie like they already did. They often slept in the same bed, in either of their rooms, just so they didn't have to be alone - _vulnerable_, as they slept.

It was because of the nightmares they both had, remnants of You-Know-Who's reign of terror. The twins and Percy were a bit too young to remember properly.

The oldest Weasley sons were not; so they were a source of comfort to each other at night. A shoulder to cry on, a scruffy head of hair to ruffle after they'd both been startled awake and were still gripped in the residual terror of their dreams - _t__heir memories._

But now Charlie was alone.

_He slept alone_.

And he was scared. Scared that he'd be taken in the night, scared of the noises that woke him until he realised that it was only the clanking of the plumbing (_just the plumbing, it needs to be fixed again - that's all_). Until he realised that it was just his youngest siblings (_they're not being tortured in their beds, they're just hungry or too cold or need changing_). And he would try to calm his racing heart, try and _fail_.

Once Percy, bleary-eyed, had pattered into his room, barefoot and sniffling a little. He'd had a nightmare, rare for him, but not as rare as Charlie would have liked.

Charlie had pulled back his covers, patted the seemingly wide space beside him. It gave him a strange sense that he was now Bill. He was now the one to hold his younger brother close, nose in his hair, breathing him in; he was now the one ruffling those same strands of hair after Percy, still awake, yawned his thanks.

That had been a strange night.

When Percy had a nightmare and Bill had been home, their older brother had told them stories until one of them or both -_ it was usually both_ - fell asleep to the sound of his soft, yet still animated, voice.

Charlie hadn't known any stories, so he'd told jokes. Up until his and Percy's laughter had gotten so loud he had to stop for fear of waking someone up, that is.

Weeks went by, at an agonisingly slow pace, and there was no word from his big brother. Only a few short letters to mum and dad. Well, they were addressed to the whole family but Charlie knew they were _really_ for mum and dad, who both worried - _a lot_.

It took no time at all for Charlie to wonder if Bill had forgotten him. Wonder if Bill had _really_ made _lots of friends_, and if those _lots of friends _had filled up the space where Charlie had been in his life.

Charlie hoped not. He hoped Bill missed him just as much as Charlie missed his big brother, if not _more!_ It didn't even cross his mind that that was a rather selfish thought, that he may not be the only one who missed Bill, or who Bill could miss. He was too consumed by his sadness.

A sadness so strong it felt like a second shadow - because it was always with him, day and night. Week after endless week.

Charlie hadn't even been allowed to go to King's Cross with Bill and dad.

"But why?" Charlie had whispered, staring up at his parents with wide eyes.

As if on cue Ginny, in his mum's arms, started to wail. Tutting, his mother had left the room - going by the sudden stench, probably to change Ginny's nappy. Charlie hadn't missed the look she'd given his father before doing so.

His father who'd been left to explain. "Work," he'd said with an apologetic smile, "I have to go to work as soon as I see Bill off." To this day, Charlie wasn't sure that had been the whole truth. He thought it may have been: _your mother needs you here_.

_Didn't she always? _

Bill had said his goodbyes at the house before he left. (Left _without_ Charlie.)

"I'll send you something." Bill had promised, hugging Charlie to his chest.

"You better," was Charlie's reply. He'd held in his tears, then. Even now he didn't let anyone see him cry. But especially not his parents. He always made sure he had wiped his eyes before they saw him.

He thought his dad may have caught him doing just that one day, a whole month into Bill's first year at Hogwarts. He'd squeezed Charlie's shoulder, and Charlie had hoped - _rather foolishly_ - that he would treat him to one of his 'bear hugs', as Muggles called them. Charlie couldn't remember how long it had been since his dad had given him one of those.

But his dad didn't give him a bear hug; he just left - probably to go to his shed.

Charlie tried extra hard to hide his tears after that day.

And then Bill sent him a gift! It came with a long letter about Bill's time at Hogwarts. Charlie had been so pleased; Bill hadn't forgotten him! He'd just been busy with schoolwork, which he'd had _a lot_ of.

The gift was a quill Bill had failed to successfully turn into a needle during Transfiguration. In the comfort and privacy of his room, after running his fingers over the silvery, slightly cool quill in his palm, Charlie laughed.

He laughed until tears came to his eyes.

But Charlie's laughter didn't give way to him actually crying, all over again, until the day Bill came home for Christmas. He'd run to his big brother (was it his imagination or had Bill gotten taller), and thrown his arms around his neck, thinking, _B__est Christmas present ever!_


	3. iii: crowns of scarlet and gold

**Written for Family Boot Camp Challenge**

It took more than a minute for Charlie Weasley to be sorted into Gryffindor. He was disappointed; Bill said his sorting had taken _seconds_. He'd never said how he'd been sorted though. He'd said that was a surprise.

_Some surprise this was._ He was sitting on a stool that was just a little too high for him - he was keenly aware of how his toes barely even scuffed the floor when he swung his feet, and he swung his feet a lot. It took his mind off of the many pairs of eyes on him, watching. Waiting. He also hoped it made him seem calmer, bored even, and not scared out of his wits.

And then there was that hat on his head. That scruffy, ragged hat. Charlie wondered how many heads it had been on. Then he wondered if any of those heads had had nits. His nose wrinkled.

_"Well, you're a cheeky one, aren't you?"_

Charlie nearly jumped. He'd lost count of how many seconds he'd been sitting on the too-high stool with that possibly nit-infested hat on his head. Because it _had_ only been seconds, _not minutes_, no way... He could feel cold beads of sweat starting to form on the back of his neck.

A rumbling sound went through one ear and out the other. Laughter. That blasted hat was laughing!

_"Oh, you have the Gryffindor spirit, I'll give you that."_

_Then put me there._ The words came to him instantly.

_"Is that really what you want? You would make a marvellous Hufflepuff; your loyalty is endless."_

He wanted to be a Gryffindor! Suddenly Charlie became even more aware of the weight of the entire hall's eyes on him. It made no sense but Charlie felt as if his parents were among them.

Watching.

_Waiting_.

He had to be a Gryffindor. They expected it! His dad may have said that it was alright if he wasn't Sorted into Gryffindor (like generations of Weasleys before him) but his eyes, his and mum's had told a different story.

_Please_, Charlie begged. _Not Hufflepuff._

The Hat was silent for one terrible heartbeat, _two_.

Then,_ "Well, if you're sure.. you can now call yourself a _GRYFFINDOR!_"_ The Hat said the last word out loud.

Charlie nearly fell off the stool in his relief. As it was, when he stood up, now hatless, and made his way towards the red and gold table, his legs shook. He felt like they could barely hold him up.

The Gryffindors were cheering loudly. There were whistles and whoops among the cheers. Charlie's legs didn't feel like they were getting any sturdier.

A strange thought came to him, then, that this was like the homecoming of a king. He spotted Bill's hair. _Or a king's brother._

As he stumbled forward, still a bit dazed, he choked on... something. Was it a sob? A cry of relief? Both?

He didn't know. But at the sight of Bill walking towards him, a gigantic smile on his face, all thoughts of his wobbly legs were forgotten.

He'd resisted the urge to run since catching sight of Bill, but _no more_. He all but leapt into his brother's outstretched arms.

"You did it, baby bro." He'd never heard Bill sound so proud. It warmed him right down to his toes.

"I did it." Charlie whispered in slight awe, beaming as he leaned back. "I did it!"

He saw the faces of the other Gryffindors. A few were _still_ cheering.

Charlie felt their acceptance and, without even knowing any of them but Bill, he loved them for it.


	4. iv: first night

**Written for the Family Boot Camp Challenge.**

The Welcoming Feast passed by in a blur. A noisy, delicious, and exciting one, but a blur nonetheless.

It was just so much to take in. For that reason, and that reason alone, Charlie didn't think anyone would blame him for sticking by Bill's side all night.

Students in Bill's year didn't say anything about it, though Charlie did see some curious looks directed at the two brothers. Even so, Bill's arm stayed around his shoulders as they sat together in the common room. Charlie stayed silent for the most part, letting the different conversations wash over him.

Then all too soon it seemed Bill was shaking him awake.

Charlie groaned as he wiggled in his seat, "Just five more minutes."

"Come on, baby bro," Bill's words wrapped around him like a hug. Charlie had missed this while Bill had been at Hogwarts. He'd missed the warm, "baby bro"s, the head ruffles, the - well, everything. He'd never say so, though. He didn't want to seem like an actual baby. Charlie hadn't let anyone see, but he'd certainly cried like one after Bill had gone to Hogwarts for the very first time...

That's when Charlie sat up, suddenly realising with a thrill that he was at Hogwarts, too.

He grinned at Bill who didn't seem confused by Charlie's change in emotions - he was probably used to it. "Ok, I'm going." But Charlie didn't feel sleepy anymore; he felt like he could have jumped for joy. He was at Hogwarts!

And Bill was right there with him.

Charlie's grin widened, then faded when it came to the difficult task of actually getting up. He may not have felt sleepy anymore, but his seat was just so warm!

Eventually, and no thanks to Bill, he got up.

"Go," Bill ushered him. So Charlie went, though he didn't miss how Bill hadn't said a word about where he was going to sleep tonight - or any of the following nights. Charlie's good mood threatened to slip away from him. He didn't want to sleep alone - not again...

He trudged up the stairs, feeling like it was a great effort to lift his feet. But then, once more getting that _all too soon_ feeling, he reached his dorm. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

The other boys were still awake. Charlie felt a little disappointed. Then he realised something, and felt quite stupid for not thinking of it sooner. _Of course_ they were still awake; they were probably as excited as he still was.

Their words of greeting washed over him. He nodded and greeted them back, looking around the circular room. He spotted his trunk by a bed and walked over to it. This was obviously his new bed. As he sat on it and bounced a little to get a feel of the comfort level, he distantly heard one of the boys say, "Hey, where you been, man?"

"Around," he answered. Then, so they didn't think he was a snob or anything, he added, "I was with my brother." He got off the bed - it was really comfy, hopefully he should fall asleep in no time, Bill or no Bill.

His dormmates' murmurs of realisation followed him as he made his way to the adjoining bathroom to wash up. "Excuse me," he said as he opened the door. When he closed it behind him, Charlie leaned back on it, his head against the wood.

The other first years had probably introduced themselves to him, but he couldn't remember their names for the life of him. Then he set about doing what he'd come in here to do.

When Charlie finished up in the bathroom, he hesitated with his hand stretched over the doorknob.

_Come on_, he told himself. _You're a Gryffindor now. You are not a coward._

When he entered the dorm for the second time, one boy looked like he was on the verge of falling asleep, and the others were talking about the Sorting.

"What'd that hat say to you?"

As he was putting away his robes, and fluffing out his quilt, it took Charlie a while to realise that the question had been aimed at him. A blonde boy, probably the one who asked the question, was looking at him expectantly. Another boy was listening, and sorting out his clothes at the same time. He was rather lanky, Charlie could see that even though he was sitting cross legged by his trunk.

Charlie shrugged. "Stuff." He didn't want to tell them that he could have been in Hufflepuff right now if things had been different. It might spread around, his parents might get word of it. A Weasley Hufflepuff - they'd never get over the shock...

One of the other boys, the pudgy one, the one who was almost asleep, muttered, "It considered Hufflepuff for me..."

The blonde boy's face twisted like he'd eaten something sour. "Who'd want to be a Hufflepuff - they're the house of the leftovers."

"Hey!" The lanky boy, with skin the colour of honey, spoke up, his head no longer bent over his trunk. "My mum was in Hufflepuff!"

"Really?" The blonde boy raised an eyebrow. "My... condolences." He sounded out the word like it was the first time it'd passed his lips.

The lanky boy (Charlie really had to learn their names at one point) grit his teeth. But then he did the smart thing; he got up and walked away.

Charlie bet that they could've heard him stomping down the stairs all the way over in Ravenclaw.

Charlie fiddled with his covers, wondering if he should say something to the only other boy in the room who was awake.

Before he could even think of the right words to say - somehow, _you're a prat_, didn't seem like the right ones - the boy turned to him. "Goodnight."

"Yeah. 'Night." He bit his lip, drew the curtains around him, and then settled into his new bed.

Charlie didn't know how much time had passed, how long he'd been lying there, _still awake_, when he heard a noise. He shot up in bed and moved his curtains apart a little.

It was the lanky boy. His eyes, glinting in the near darkness, caught Charlie's. "Sorry," he whispered.

"'S alright." Charlie whispered back, smiling. "Goodnight."

He thought he saw a flash of teeth as the other boy said, "Goodnight."

Then Charlie settled back onto his plump pillows. It was too quiet - even after the lanky boy had gone to bed.

He wasn't used to this absolute absence of noise. Back home there'd always been some noise in the background.

The clanking of the plumbing.

The cries of his younger siblings.

The creak of the floorboards as one of his parents got up to tend to them.

Not even the husky snores of one of his dorm mates could make up for the lack of those.

Charlie shifted in the bed, keenly aware of the spaces between his wayward limbs and the edges of the bed - spaces his brother (or, sometimes _brothers_) should have filled. He squirmed beneath the warm sheets, still finding it hard to just drift off. Maybe he should go see Madame Pomfrey, the school MediWitch - _surely_ she'd be able to help...

As if by magic, that was the exact moment he heard something.

"Psst." For the second time that night, Charlie shot up in bed. "Charlie, you awake?"

"'Course, you tosser. If I wasn't you'd've woken me up by now anyway, the amount of noise you made..."

"Oi," Bill slid through the hangings. "What've I told you 'bout that mouth of yours?"

"That it'll get me into trouble one day." Charlie pretended to squirm guiltily for one moment, then a grin split his face the next.

"Yep." Bill settled down next to him, a welcome warmth. "Miss me?"

Charlie's response was to hug his big brother around the middle, laying his head under his brother's chin. Bill's arms wrapped around his back, his heartbeat strong and steady in his ears and Charlie smiled.

He could almost feel the contentness that his brother radiated - he felt the same. But one last thing...

"If you kiss me on the head, I will kick you."

Bill's startled laugh rang out clearly before he smothered it a second later. He ruffled Charlie's hair, ignoring the younger Weasley's huff - that was almost as bad as a kiss on the head, after all. "Yes, sir."


	5. v: got a secret

It's been four weeks, almost a _month_ since Charlie started his first year at Hogwarts, and he was still relatively friendless.

Well, there was Hagrid - and Fang, but Charlie wasn't sure if they counted.

There was also this one boy from his dorm who he was friendly with, Jim Clarence, but Charlie wouldn't say they were friends _exactly_.

"Give it time," Bill told him. Well, that was easy for _him_ to say, he had lots of friends. They weren't all in his year either - or Gryffindor.

Sometimes Charlie wished he had whatever Bill had - and then he remembered what Bill had; a spot on the Quidditch team.

_Just one more year_, Charlie thought wistfully as he passed the Quidditch pitch on his way from Hagrid's hut. _One more year and I'll have what he's got_.

Charlie wanted to be a seeker - always had. And it was those thoughts that were running through his head when he came across... Well, he wasn't sure what was happening.

All he could see were a Hufflepuff and a Slytherin standing around, arguing.

"You're a little ponce!" The Hufflepuff - a girl in her first year - was saying.

"Well, being a ponce is better than what you are." The boy, maybe a second year, said seething. "Dirty blood runs through your veins. You'll be lucky if no one else finds out, half-"

"Hey," Charlie called, running up to them. He looked at the Hufflepuff girl who was gritting her teeth, her hands in fists, shaking. "What's going on...?"

The Slytherin glared at Charlie - at both of the first years, then he spat, "Bloodtraitor," before skulking off. Charlie bristled a little. What a pompous twat!

"Slytherins." Charlie scoffed, looking to the girl for agreement.

For some reason she looked indignant. "My mum was a-" Her jaw snapped shut, Charlie could see her gritting her teeth again.

His eyes widened. He raised his hands in a surrendering gesture, stepping back a little. "Pax," he said, only realising as he said it that it was a Muggle call for peace, a truce.

And the girl seemed to know that, too. "Aren't you a Pureblood?" The Hufflepuff seemed to wonder aloud, and just like that the previous tension started to dissipate.

"My dad's -" Now it was his turn to pause. What could he say? Eccentric? Just plain odd?

Charlie had finally settled on open minded, when the girl's face softened a bit. "Yeah, I've heard of your dad," she said, eyes scanning him intently. Most likely taking note of the red hair, freckles, and - of course - Gryffindor tie.

"Nothing bad, I hope." His voice, no matter how jovial he tried to make it, was strained.

The girl smiled with one corner of her mouth, and said softly, "My mum was a Slytherin - I'm a _halfblood_, how bad could it get?"

Then realisation clicked. "I know you," the words were out with little input from his brain. "Tonks."

She looked him right in the eyes then. "How did you...?"

Then they said together, softly: "The Order of the Phoenix."

Tonks' mum - Andi? Andrea? Definitely an And-something - hadn't been an official member, but Charlie could still remember his parents, official members of the Order, talking about her once. He hadn't been able to hear very well, hadn't even meant to listen, but Charlie thought they mentioned her marrying a Muggle... They'd also said, _it was a shame what happened_ and that _she was nice for a_... something. Charlie supposed it was, '_Slytherin_'.

When he mentally shook himself out of his musings, Charlie was startled to find that Tonks' hair wasn't dark brown anymore; it was now a black so deep it seemed to shine blue in the weak light.

"Um..." Charlie gestured to her hair. She clamped her hands over her hair as if to hide it, her eyes were wide and darting around, her mouth agape.

She cursed under her breath softly, changed her hair back to its original colour with a grimace.

Charlie was gaping like an idiot, he knew he was, but he couldn't stop. It was unlike anything he'd ever see before. He closed his mouth, affected a faux-casual expression with just a hint of curiosity.

And though he was curious - to put it fairly mildly - he didn't ask to see it again. He got the feeling that it would be a bad idea.

When he said nothing, only smiled a little at the Hufflepuff, she relaxed and that's when he knew he'd been right not to give in to his curiosity just this once.

She blinked rapidly in lingering surprise and then gave a hesitant smile, her hair running through a myriad of colours with each flutter of her eyelids. Charlie got the feeling she'd done that on purpose.

"How did you do that?" He spoke up hesitantly after a few moments of silence.

She looked around to make sure no one was nearby, then leaned to the side slightly, towards Charlie. She murmured, "I'm a... metamorpho...thingie."

After a few seconds of staring Charlie roused himself, nodded like that made sense to him. "Cool."

She gave him a weird look but when she saw he was earnest, she lifted the corner of her mouth in a slightly more genuine smile. "S'pose, it is."

"Don't worry," Charlie said in a low voice. "I won't tell anyone."

Her eyes seemed to search him as they locked with his. Finally she gave him a nod and a, "Thanks."

He held out a hand, "I'm Charlie - Weasley, but I suppose you already knew that."

She nodded, cleared her throat a little. When she took his hand, she muttered something.

"What was that?"

She sighed angrily, said through clenched teeth. "I'm Nympadora Tonks. But you knew that, right?"

He nodded, "Your last name, yeah..."

She gave him that searching gaze again as their brief handshake ended, he met it with ease.

"Do you mind if I call you Dora?" It felt rude to refer to her as Tonks, and she clearly didn't like her first name...

"I suppose it's better than Nympadora." She smiled, a full one that made Charlie relax, smile back. Her guard was being let down. Charlie didn't want her to regret it. So he changed the subject to something he could sink his teeth into: Quidditch. She responded with vigour.

And just like that the seeds of their friendship were sown.


	6. vi: a dutiful son

**Written for the Family Boot Camp Challenge.**

If there was one thing Charlie knew to be true, it was this: Hogwarts was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Whenever he woke up he felt light, like he was floating on a cloud, or flying carpet. Marvelling at the world around him.

His nightmares weren't as frequent, it was like Charlie knew - really knew - that he was safe, that no harm would ever come to him here. But then this was Hogwarts, the safest place in Britain.

And he had friends here, Hagrid and Fang, Dora and Jim. He'd never thought that letting people into his life, that talking and joking with people who weren't his siblings could be so... so wonderful. He'd almost been scared to make friends before, to talk to people he didn't know - but now, he couldn't fathom why he'd ever felt that way. Having friends was great!

That's wasn't to say that Charlie didn't still seek Bill's company from time to time. Nothing could replace Bill and his hair ruffles, his "baby bro"s, his grins that warmed Charlie right down to his toes.

Charlie still wrote home like the dutiful son he was, sending his letters off the same time as Bill's. His family regularly sent their love to him and Bill, and mum even said the twins wanted the two Gryffindors to send them something. Charlie never knew why he got the feeling that that _something_ was something silly, like a toilet seat...

There were moments when Charlie missed them, but honestly - if in his first year Bill really had forgotten about Charlie, he didn't think he could blame him.

It felt like before he'd set foot in Hogwarts, Charlie had been suffocating slowly, and now, now he could breathe again! And how sweet the air was; his lungs couldn't get enough of it. Charlie was almost intoxicated by the feeling. It felt like he could run wild here, like he was free!

It seemed some time away from the Burrow, from his family, had actually done Charlie so good. He'd always wondered if it would have - and now he knew.


	7. vii: freedom is happiness

**Written for the Family Boot Camp Challenge.**

Charlie let the wind take him again. It wasn't hard; he just flew, letting the wind push at his back, a guiding hand, an _insistent_ one.

It hadn't been hard to sneak away from the Burrow either. He'd been the only one out in the orchard, the others had chores or homework, or in the case of the youngest, were napping.

His dad had been in the shed, his mum preparing dinner - even though it was just past two in the afternoon.

Charlie had touched down on the orchard floor, and circled around the Burrow, on foot under the cover of the trees. He hadn't gotten on his broom again until he was sure he couldn't be seen by anyone looking out of the house.

Until he saw sure he was past the wards.

Then he was straddling his broom, pushing off the ground, the wind whipping his hair, his clothes. And he let it.

For the first time since he was nine years old, since the day before Bill left for Hogwarts - left him - Charlie didn't fight against the wind. He let it push him further and further away.

He felt giddy. He could see a large hill up ahead. Two people were on it, they were spinning. As he got closer he could see them more clearly. A boy and a girl. The girl's long blonde hair was flying around her as the boy spun her, hands gripping hers. Suddenly the boy let go of her hands. Charlie stifled a cry of shock.

But the girl didn't soar through the air only to land on the ground, hard, some metres away. She stayed airborne, spinning in the air slowly like a spinning top in slow motion.

The boy, who was lean and had brown unkempt hair, doubled up laughing. The girl's laughter joined him as she floated down to the ground.

Charlie's giddiness returned. Their laughter was contagious, and his earlier elation was coming back to him slowly. He was thankful for that, that it didn't come rushing back all at once. It would have overwhelmed him. He imagined he might have fallen off his broom if that had happened.

Soon Charlie felt like he could have burst from his joy. He was free! More so than he'd ever been at Howarts.

_Where would he go?_ he wondered distantly, now flying in circles just above the hill.

Where _could_ he go?

He shook his head - there'd be time for that later. Now, he should just enjoy the freedom. Who knew how long it would last?

A little melancholy started to creep in with that last thought. So he pulled up his broom handle, and started to fly in two tight loops. He flew a little further then did it again.

Soon he was whooping, cheering with joy.

Something caught his eye, made him stop in midair the right way up. The children on the hill... they were looking up at him. They were cheering too.

He could see them even clearer now; the girl was around Ginny's age, perhaps a little older, the boy around... Percy's? He wasn't too sure...

When he had stopped, the girl had started to wave at him with both of her arms, now the boy was too, one arm moving from side to side. Charlie grinned, raised his own arm in a wave.

And then he blinked and they turned into Percy and Ginny. Ginny waving up at him, and though he couldn't hear her, Charlie knew she was giggling, shrieking with joy. Percy who had a book on his knees but was looking up in spite of himself.

Both were looking up. Up at Charlie and his tricks - his loop-the-loops, his Wonksi Feints...

Charlie's breath left his chest in a whoosh. He turned away from the apparitions, from the very real children below him, and he went back. Once again, after flying away on a broom, Charlie was _turning back_... Was he insane? He didn't allow himself to think any further than that, for he knew if he did his resolve would crumble and he'd let the wind take him.

He'd let the wind take him _again_ and he would not fight against it.

As soon as he touched down in the orchard, he took hold of his broom gingerly, as if afraid of the power it held over him. He locked it in the cupboard, and went into the house. Into the kitchen.

His mum was still there. Still cooking, and soon the table would be groaning under the weight of warm, succulent food. _Food for him_ - him and the others. He felt like his lungs were being gripped tightly, it was getting harder to breathe. His stomach started to twist as he continued to stare at everything, and at nothing, all at once. He stared without seeing. The sudden sensation of his teeth biting into his bottom lip bought him out of his daze slowly.

And just in time, for that was when his mum turned to him in the middle of stirring a large pot on the stove. Knives were chopping up veg on the cutting board; other pots were stirring themselves; and there was something cooking in the oven, Charlie couldn't tell what. The smell had long since mingled with that of the other food cooking. It was a fragrant cloud of scents that had made his mouth water as soon as he'd stepped through the doorway.

"Charlie," his mum said, smiling. "What are you doing in here? Did you want something to eat?" Her voice was gentle; it wrapped around him like a hug. He drew in a shaky breath.

"No," he whispered faintly, then he cleared his throat, looked away, started again. "No, I just... Do you want some help? I-Is there anything..." _Anything I can do_, he meant to say, but the words wouldn't come out.

His mum blinked, looking faintly surprised. Then she looked pleased. "Yes." She said after a moment of intense scrutiny. "Yes, there is actually."

She gestured to the sink which was still full of dirty dishes. Charlie hadn't noticed that before. A sponge was wiping away at a plate as he turned to look; and soon, he knew, the plate would be rinsed, then put away. All with magic.

He looked at his mum who nodded at the sink. _Go on_, that gesture said. He walked towards the sink just as his mother aimed her wand at it. Time seemed to speed up. The next thing Charlie knew the sponge had stilled before hovering down to the counter top, and the plate had been rinsed and sent to the mostly empty drying rack.

His mum sighed, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

_From her magic._

That was an interesting thought; Charlie wondered if there was any truth to it. There probably was.

He picked up a scrubbing brush and got to work. Rinsing away his guilt, scrubbing at his wanderlust until there wasn't even a speck left. As he let the water run off another plate, a larger one, the surface caught the light. He turned it slightly, watched it gleam. There wasn't even a speck left, he noted with satisfaction.

He smiled as he put the plate on the rack and picked up a dirty fork. His mum was behind him, bustling around the kitchen, checking the cooking.

If he listened hard enough, Charlie could hear rustling noises from the bushes outside, in the garden. Probably gnomes - blasted things - making themselves at home. Charlie even thought he could hear a chicken or two clucking out there. He couldn't be sure. He stopped himself from reaching out further with his hearing. He didn't want to hear the howls of the wind...

As he and his mum worked, the only sounds inside the kitchen were the _thunk thunk thunk_ of the knives on the chopping board; the bubbling pots on the stove; the sound of trickling water from the sink; even a faint hum from the oven.

It was nice. He wished there were more moments like this, more moments to cherish, to hold close. Maybe then he wouldn't feel like he needed to run away to be happy, to be free.

_Freedom is happiness_ a small part of Charlie's mind said. He gnawed on his already raw bottom lip.

As he finished up he felt his mum's eyes on him. He turned and met them, she was smiling at him softly over her shoulder. "Thank you, dear." Her smile grew larger. "You're a good boy, Charlie."

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat - _guilt_, his traitorous mind whispered - as he smiled back. But no matter how hard he tried to make it real, it still felt more like a grimace than anything.


	8. viii: injustice

**Written for the Family Boot Camp Challenge.**

Charlie was excited. He was starting his second year, and was now able to ride up to Hogwarts by carriage like the other years, except first, did.

As he followed the two Prefects who led the first group of second years - at least half of them - to the carriages, Charlie wondered what the view of Hogwarts would be like.

Would it be as magnificent as the view from the boats had been last year? He hoped so. In fact, he hoped it was better.

He also wondered what pulled the carriages. Soon enough, Charlie was able to see for himself. From his place at the front of the crowd, Charlie stopped. And he stared.

Skeletal horses were unfurling their bony wings and pawing at the ground. They exuded a sort of morbid beauty. Charlie couldn't help his staring, hadn't even _realised_ that he'd stopped while the nearby voice of the leading Prefect was washing over him.

"What are they?" Charlie didn't realise that he was the one who'd asked the question until the Prefect looked at him. He also didn't realise he wasn't the only one who'd stopped until he found that no one was pushing against him, trying to get him to move forward.

He must have jinxed something because just then he thought he felt someone jostle against him, then someone else. He wanted them to stop, they were crowding him. He hated crowds - that was why he'd left Bill behind and made sure to be at the front of this one, instead of in the thick of it. It seemed that had been in vain.

_And where was Bill now?_ he wondered distantly as he stared at the creatures, an inexplicable chill running down his spine.

"Why've you all stopped?" asked a voice far behind him.

"What are you looking at?" asked another, closer.

"I can't believe you don't know what they are." A loud voice rang out. Someone who was also at the front of the crowd. It sounded like Demetrius - a blonde boy who shared Charlie's dorm. "Those creatures are Thestrals - my father told me to watch out for them. I didn't believe him..." His voice ended in a whisper.

Charlie thought he heard another voice murmur, "Oh, now you've done it." He thought it might have been David, another dormmate of his, and who was rather lanky and had skin the colour of honey.

When Demetrius had enlightened his fellow second years using his far-from-vast-_or_-impressive knowledge of the creatures, Charlie's mouth had dropped open. _Threstrals_. He knew something of them, but _what_...?

Charlie heard someone, somewhere, whimper. A voice breathed, "Oh gods," right by his elbow, it seemed. It could have been Nympadora.

And then he remembered. Thestrals could only be seen by those who'd seen death, who'd known Death. All the breath left Charlie's lungs at once; he gasped. It was getting harder for him to breathe.

He felt like he was drifting. No longer did he feel closed in by the people around him, to his sides, behind him. Instead he felt like he was alone in the world, or cut off from it.

He felt like it was just him and _those things_. He couldn't believe he'd thought they were beautiful, couldn't believe he thought they still were, a little bit.

"You shouldn't be able to see them." A nearby Ravenclaw Prefect whispered, horrified...

There probably wasn't a single person present who wasn't horrified. By the implications, by the loss of innocence...

As news spread of the creatures - _Thestrals_ - that could only be seen by those who'd seen Death, a wail started to rise up.

It made the hairs on Charlie's neck prickle. Someone, somewhere, started to sob. Then someone else, and so on, until the sound seemed to echo all around him. His breathing became shallow. He suddenly wished that he _was_ alone in the world, because surely it couldn't be any worse than _this_.

Mum had made his favourite - chicken mayo sandwiches - for the journey. And now they were threatening to make another appearance - in his vomit. He clapped a hand over his mouth, doubling up. He straightened, breathing harshly, when his stomach finally settled.

And he didn't think he'd imagined it earlier, most of the second year students around him really had backed up. As if putting distance between themselves and the Thestrals - whether they could see the creatures or not - would change things.

But nothing could change things. Nothing and no one - so was the way of the world, magic couldn't change that._ It couldn't change this_.

Then suddenly - as if he'd sensed Charlie's emotions, his growing need for his big brother - Bill was there, right next to him. He looked from Charlie to the Thestrals and back, his eyes widening as realisation struck him.

_Bill could see them too. _Charlie's own realisation struck him dully, like he'd been hit but hadn't felt the immediate blow - only the pain that came after, the ache...

Bill moved towards his younger brother. That was what bought Charlie out of his shock. Next came fear - irrational, illogical, but there nonetheless. It surged to the surface, clouded his senses. Charlie could feel his eyes filling with tears that threatened to spill over the brim.

"Who did I see die?" Charlie hated how reedy his voice was, how it wavered. A tear, then another fell from his eyes when he blinked. They tracked their way down his cheeks before he brushed them away languidly.

"I don't know." Bill said, his voice small. "I don't know." He said again, a little louder, his voice cracking on the last word.

More tears spilled from Charlie's eyes; he wasn't the only one crying - he could hear shrieks, wails and sobs from his peers - but his cheeks burned with embarrassment all the same.

His knees shook and then they gave way. His chest heaved with silent sobs as he doubled over again, curling up on himself. This time he didn't straighten up. It just hurt so much - _he_ hurt so much. He couldn't remember ever struggling to breathe like this before.

It scared him. The Thestrals appeared in his mind's eye. This _whole thing_ scared him.

He'd seen someone die, and he hadn't even remembered! And no matter how hard he wracked his brain, he still couldn't.

What if it had been someone he'd known, known and liked?

What if it had been a Death Eater? He thought with a growing sense of cold unease.

Imagined scenarios played out in his head, each more ghastly than the last. Blood and gore and screaming... _Oh, the screaming_... It was his nightmares come to life. His stomach rolled again, violently this time, and Charlie bit his bottom lip so hard he tasted blood.

"I'm sorry..." Bill had crouched in front of him, placed a warm hand on his shoulder.

He might have meant: I'm sorry you saw someone die.

He might have meant: I'm sorry I couldn't stop you seeing someone die.

And he might have meant: I'm sorry I didn't even know that you had until now...

Which it was, Charlie didn't know; it could have been all three. All he knew was that Bill was sorry.

His older brother drew Charlie towards him. Bill didn't appear to mind when tears soaked his robes as he hugged the second year close. "I'm sorry." Bill said again, this time even quieter, while he ran his fingers through Charlie's hair. As Charlie continued to cry into Bill's shoulder, he only just caught words so soft he could have imagined them. "I'm sorry."


	9. ix: everything matters

**Written for the Family Boot Camp Challenge.**

Charlie was home for the Christmas holidays - but, apparently, that didn't mean he could shirk his responsibilities. (It hadn't even been a day and already Charlie couldn't wait to go back to Hogwarts.)

"Come on, Gin, they're good for you." It was dinner. Charlie was trying to get his sister to let him put mashed vegetables on her plate. She wasn't having it. He didn't blame her.

Mum glanced at him from her seat at the end of the table. "Don't call her that." They'd been through this before; apparently it made his only sister sound like an alcoholic drink. Which it did but... it made bonding hard. (As if it wasn't hard enough with the gender and age difference.)

Charlie so longed to ask his mother, "Then why did you name her that?" But he knew the reactions it would bring. He could see them in his mind's eye now.

His mother would stare outraged, his father would give a small frown of disapproval.

Charlie was a '_good boy_'. He didn't talk back, not like the twins.

He was the second oldest, and, in Bill's absence, the pseudo-eldest.

_Names, titles. What do they matter? _A voice in his head snarled.

_They matter. Everything matters,_ another voice said. The quieter one. Reason.

His breath hitched in his chest when he inhaled. He may have imagined it but he thought he shook slightly as he breathed out. _Hogwarts, just think of Hogwarts_, he told himself in vain.

"Charlie?" A gentle voice coaxed. Bill. Older brother Bill. Protector Bill. _Shield_ Bill. "Aren't you going to eat anymore?"

Charlie blinked into awareness. He noted distantly that someone - probably Bill, it usually was - had succeeded in putting the mashed veg on Ginny's plate - it didn't mean she was eating it, though.

"I don't..." He had to clear his throat, get rid of the rasp and start again. "I don't think I'm hungry anymore. Might I be excused?"

His mother was fussing over Ginny, trying to get her to, "be a good dear and eat up." His father, chewing his lip slowly, looked far away - work again, it must have been. So much for not bringing work to the table.

His gaze locked with Bill's.

Bill nodded.

Charlie scraped back his chair and the noise seemed to bring most of the room's occupants attention to him. He pushed his plate towards the centre, not meeting anyone's eyes as he said, "Here. Divvy it up between you - or something. Or give it all to Ron." He looked up, meeting the startled eyes of the youngest Weasley brother, the youngest son. "I know how much you like food."

Ron acknowledged him with a mere, "Wha-?" his mouth stuffed with Shepherd's Pie.

Pushing his chair back in with shaking hands, he ignored Percy's soft, "Charlie?" and left.

As soon as he reached his room, he shut the door behind him. Sliding down it wearily he let out a great rush of air. The weight of _their_ expectations lay heavy on his shoulders. He was only the second oldest - he hadn't been born to this role of nurturing, caring. His earliest memories were of being nurtured, being cared for. Still, his parent's expectations seemed to grow day by day, year by year.

And he _was only_ the second oldest - just how did Bill stand it?

If he thought his older brother would actually answer him, Charlie would ask him that very question.


	10. x: the art of seclusion

**Written for the Family BootCamp Challenge**

Before he went to Hogwarts Charlie had lived in a bubble. The Burrow was his life; the only thing he knew. There was nothing else. He never strayed from the boundaries of the orchard when flying—he didn't even think he'd be allowed to with the wards, though on foot was another story—he _almost_ never wandered off.

Aside from the odd visit to a relatives' home, Diagon Alley was the only other place he'd ever visited—the first time he'd done so, it had been overwhelming; having to get what he needed for Hogwarts and being jostled by all those people. But Charlie wasn't weak, he persevered.

Before that, however, all he'd ever known were his family.

Despite the nagging feelings at the back of his mind, Charlie rarely, if ever, paid much thought to his neighbours. He knew they were there—he certainly overheard his mum talking about them enough to know _that_—but they just didn't concern him.

He did have vague memories of someplace—and they were the source of the nagging, persistent feelings—but when he tried to reach for them, when he tried to remember, they faded away. It left Charlie with nothing but bitterness at his failure, so Charlie stopped trying to remember.

But when he was flying, and he was alone, he couldn't stop himself from flying level to the top of the highest tree. He thought if there was anything to see that would be high enough, and he would try and spot his elusive neighbours' homes. He wouldn't succeed.

Not that he particularly cared—or so he told himself.

To hear his mum tell it, especially when she was gossiping with a Ms—or Mrs., he was never sure which—Fawcett via floo-call, the other occupants of Ottery St Catchpole were unfaithful, power-hungry, crazy.

So what could Charlie possibly want with them? What did it matter if there was nothing to see but trees and hills for miles around the Burrow?

That was what he asked himself, anyway.

But that still didn't stop the feeling Charlie got whenever he tried to spot their houses and failed. It was a feeling that resembled disappointment a bit too much for his liking.

(Because he knew that the young boy and girl he'd seen when he flew _further_ out, past the Burrow, had come from _somewhere_—but Charlie didn't let himself think about that day. The day he almost left for good.)

So, as he settled into Hogwarts, his first year rolling into his second and then his third, Charlie was more than glad to put it to the back of his mind.

After all, what did it matter?


	11. xi: it's a rich man's world

"What are you doing?" This was the second time this week Bill had snuck away from the orchard. He and Charlie were supposed to be helping each other practise. How was Charlie supposed to keep his spot on the Quidditch team if he didn't practise? Bogans—who had his eye on the captaincy—would really love that.

Bill just smiled at him as he walked backwards.

"Where are you going?" Charlie tried again._ I know you're up to something_, he thought but didn't say.

"Percy's off to Hogwarts soon; I have a job to do."

Charlie didn't think Bill meant literally—until he followed him, that was.

Charlie followed him to the top of a large hill whose name he'd forgotten—_did it even have one?_—where he stopped and stared at the picture unfolding in front of his eyes. Shops, houses—a _park? _This was a village!

He ran to catch up with Bill, secrecy be damned.

He'd almost forgotten this place. Before The Shed had come into existence (with so much screaming the sounds still echoed through Charlie's nightmares) Dad used to come down here to sell and trade—what had he called it, produce?

Well, things from the garden and orchard anyway. Charlie had vague memories of climbing trees and picking fruit, collecting eggs from the chicken hut—then there was the mystery of the disappearing chickens, which wasn't such a mystery now, how many years later?

That must have been long before the Weasleys had too many mouths to feed to be able to sell or trade what free food they already had.

Charlie scanned the familiar well-trodden path, he even spotted an old well. If he strained hard enough, would he remember that, too? "Why don't they let us come here anymore?"

Bill shrugged, not seeming to care that he'd been followed—or maybe he'd known all along. "Maybe you can ask when you get home."

"No thanks." Then he registered the last part, "And I'm not going home. Not now." _You're bonkers if you think I'm off _now.

"Well, you can't keep following me around. I have a job to do."

"No! Really?" Bill cuffed him on the back of the head.

"Watch that mouth of yours," he said.

"How can I when I can't see it?"

Bill rolled his eyes, a smile on his lips even as he sped upon seeing a cluster of shops which Charlie couldn't help but stare at. He remembered that ice cream shop!

He barely noticed when Bill said, "Well, watch that tongue of yours then. There, that better?"

Charlie absentmindedly stuck it out at him in a childish gesture. Bill's smile widened for a second before it faded.

"I was serious, though, Charlie; don't follow me. Do you know how bad it would look to have my younger brother follow me into work—?"

"No."

"—and how much worse it would be if they found out mum didn't even know you were here?" Without her permission.

"She doesn't know you're here either."

Bill grit his teeth, spoke through them as he jerked his head towards the nearing shops, "They don't know that." He huffed out a breath, annoyed, "I swear, Charlie, I could strangle you sometimes."

"Why?" Charlie stopped, looked up at his big brother with wide eyes, "For being sensible?"

"No, for being annoying." Bill's face softened a little as he also stopped, "And that face won't work on me; I'm not ten anymore!"

Charlie gave up the ruse with a grin that was only a little bit abashed.

"Now, scram."

Charlie couldn't help the pout that formed on his face, even when Bill looked like he was threatening to crack up.

Then, Charlie started to shuffle backwards, out of Bill's reach. "And how do you know that I won't just go home and tell mum everything?"

Bill's grin changed to a secretive smile, like he was going to share a secret. Charlie almost leaned forward in spite of himself. "Because then you wouldn't be allowed to come back another time, now would you?"

Charlie didn't need any more encouragement, he ran all the way home, only stopping at the edge of the orchard to catch his breath. His heart continued to pound in his chest long after he got his breathing under control.

Charlie face split in a grin as he picked up his broomstick from where he'd carelessly dropped it. There was a whole other world to explore in that village—and there would be other children, too, there had to be! Maybe Charlie could be friends with them...

Bill was right; he wasn't planning on telling a soul.

Later, about two hours later when Bill came back and Charlie asked him why he'd gotten a job, Bill just shrugged. "Thought it'd be good to get out of the house. There's only so much flying and going 'round to Tony's I can take."

"And the other reason?" Bill looked at him and Charlie looked back. "When do you get paid?" Charlie asked.

Silence, then, "Next week if I'm lucky."

"You said that Percy was going to Hogwarts, so you had a job to do..."

"Every Knut counts." Bill said shrugging—he obviously thought _that was the end of that_. He thought wrong.

Charlie got it out of him eventually. Bill had a strange knack for numbers, for money, and he'd been inside the family vault. He said that they could have lived comfortably as a family of five—_five!_—which they obviously weren't.

Whenever possible, when they went to Diagon Alley Bill and Charlie had to make sure a portion of Bill's wages was slipped into the money-pouch when their parents weren't looking. Charlie suspected that was the only reason Bill let him know about his job. That stung a little, that Bill hadn't trusted him, that he hadn't thought Charlie might want to get out of the house from time to time, too. Not to mention having the chance to help their family.

But then Charlie supposed it was an oldest-sibling thing; Bill felt he had to take on the role of pseudo-guardian all by himself. Charlie didn't intend to let Bill do this all by himself, he planned on helping—of course he did.

Charlie wanted to get a job of his own soon, not just to try and help their family, but so he'd have some money of his own.

With that last thought in mind Charlie found he _couldn't wait_ to get a job. He wondered if there were any at the village.


	12. xii: convehunt draco dormiens

**Written for the Family BootCamp Challenge.**

Percy was starting Hogwarts soon. Their dad and Charlie were the only ones to go with him to Diagon Alley; Bill was at home helping their mum with the younger Weasleys—he would get what he needed tomorrow.

It was the second time the eleven year old had been to Diagon Alley, but he was just as overawed by his surroundings as he had been the first time. It had been like that for Charlie, too, when he was his age.

As they passed by the entrance to Quality Quidditch Supplies Charlie thought he couldn't wait until he got a job; when his dad wasn't looking, he eyed the Quidditch gloves in the display window—he couldn't wait to have some money of his own.

"What about the twins?" Percy sidestepped a wizard who was rushing through the crowd. They were playing a game that Charlie had come up on a whim one day after seeing Percy look at his Hogwarts letter, vaguely ill.

The two brothers would name people they knew and would 'Sort'—or Re-Sort, in most cases—those people according to the characteristics of each House. Of course, the sorting hat had a more in-depth method of Sorting than that but Percy didn't know that.

"What about 'em?"

"I really think those little fiends would flourish in Slytherin," Percy muttered.

Charlie laughed. Percy gave him a small smile. He smiled back, holding his brother's gaze for a few seconds even as they threaded through the people around them. He'd never felt this close to Percy before. It was... nice.

"I think you're ready for Hogwarts, baby bro." The last words just slipped out. It was Bill's affectionate term for his younger brothers. Charlie hadn't meant to use it. He bit his lip, snuck a glance at Percy.

Percy had frozen mid-step, he wasn't looking at Charlie anymore. In fact, he seemed to be resolutely looking anywhere but Charlie as his lips pursed. A flush rose to Charlie's cheeks as he waited—waited for Percy to do something, to _say something_.

When an irate wizard bustled past him, jostling him, Percy finally did.

"Don't call me that." The soft words held a steely undercurrent that Charlie only just picked up on.

"Right." Charlie averted his eyes from Percy's stony face. "Sorry."

Charlie never did call him that again.


	13. xiii: england's grace

**Written for the Family BootCamp Challenge.**

There was a boy waiting outside the changing rooms. A Gryffindor first year—he looked a little familiar. He'd been leaning against a window sill but when he caught sight of Charlie he pushed off it. As Charlie walked towards the boy he wrung his pale hands together. A nervous gesture, but why would he be nervous?

"Charlie Weasley? Oh—_of course!_ Oliver. Oliver Wood, I—"

"Share a dorm with Percy, I know."

Oliver grinned; it was a rather shy one. "I just wanted to say I thought you were brilliant out there."

"Thank you," Charlie smiled at the first year who swallowed and started to wring his hands together once more.

"You could play for England, Y'know. I-if you wanted to, I mean..."

That invoked a brief, but passionate discussion of England's current team. Charlie was amused to find that Oliver disliked the current Keeper's performance—and also, just how much the younger boy disliked it. "I know I'm only a first year," he said, "but I could do a better job with my hands tied behind my back."

Charlie raised his eyebrows. "Maybe you can try out in a few years—for Gryffindor, I mean." Charlie smirked, "I don't think you're ready for England yet, or them for you, as it happens."

Oliver's shy grin grew, becoming less shy by the second, actually. "Put in a good word for me?"

Charlie snorted. "I'll have to see you play first."

Then there was a lull. Oliver's shy grin made another appearance, but their Quidditch discussion had put a stop to his incessant hand-wringing (thankfully; it had perturbed Charlie more than a little). "It was nice of you to take the time to talk to me. Bogans didn't look all that approachable—I don't know if he would've done what you're doing now..."

"Yeah, well, Bogans is an idiot." Charlie shrugged in a _what can you do? _way, before his lips quirked in a lopsided grin. "My door's always open."

Oliver looked as if he'd just discovered something better than sliced bread. He was looking at Charlie in a way that—like his hand-wringing earlier—made him a little uncomfortable, a little out of his depth.

_Starstruck_, Charlie realised suddenly. _The younger Gryffindor was starstruck..._

Charlie was pulled out of his thoughts by Oliver seemingly thinking aloud. "So I was right."

When Charlie looked at him questioningly he sputtered a little, "A-at the... the match I happened to look over at Percy after you flew by and right before you did that fancy trick—nice one, by the way—and he was...smiling. And I thought to myself, anyone who can make Percy Weasley smile..."—a blush coloured Oliver's face—"...is someone I wanna know."

Great—now Charlie was blushing, too. Finally he spoke up, "He's not that bad."

Oliver, momentarily forgetting about being starstruck, gave him a look that said _have you met your brother?_

Charlie shook his head and smiled a little. "So those are the only reasons you're here? To laud my Quidditch skills, and to take advantage of my good nature?"

Seeing the teasing smile on Charlie's face, Oliver relaxed a little, losing the deer-in-the-headlights look he'd acquired. Playing along the younger Gryffindor nodded sheepishly. "Basically, yeah."

Charlie grinned. Last year one or two girls had done the same thing. This year he'd had a feeling there would be more; he just hadn't bet on this. "Careful, now. People may start to think you have a crush on me."

Oliver opened his mouth, as if to say something, but his mouth stayed like that so he ended up gaping at the older Gryffindor.

Charlie laughed, clapped the boy's shoulder as he passed by him. He walked down the corridor, already planning to go the long way to Gryffindor Tower. Charlie raised his voice a little when he was halfway to the end of the corridor, "Well, are you coming or what?" Looking back, he met Oliver's wide eyes. "I wanna discuss the merits of O'Reilly and Gallagher... Know 'em?"

Oliver's enthusiastic response—running to catch up with him—told Charlie that he did.


	14. xiv: lover of the strange

**Written for the Family Bootcamp Challenge.**

Arthur Weasley had three rules (as opposed to Molly's twenty-odd).

All of them concern Malfoys ("Or any uppity Pureblood family, really," - his father's words).

They were the following:

•Do make eye contact when passing,

•Nod courteously when they look at you, ("Or grin—that means you two, Fred and George; it'll unnerve them.")

•Do not rise to their taunts or snide remarks. ("So, Fred, that means—no, you can not call Draco Malfoy 'the antichrist' or 'Devil's Spawn'...in his or his father's hearing, at least. Oh, you're George, are you? Well, you were Fred two hours ago.")

When Charlie was thirteen and visiting Diagon Alley, at the start of the Christmas hols, with the two youngest and their father, he was surprised to learn that there was no exception to Arthur Weasley's rules.

It happened when they passed the Ice Cream Parlor. Charlie was holding onto Ron's hand and had to pull him back when he strained towards the Parlor; their father, carrying Ginny—who was actually quite old to be carried at four—was lamenting the rising price of stuffing. The Weasleys usually cooked two turkeys for Chrismas dinner—if they had turkey at all. (Charlie hoped they would this year; he loved his mum's leftover turkey sandwiches, with the succulent slices of turkey, the spicy mustard, the crisp onions and the crispier lettuce.)

Charlie didn't think his father could go into the Muggle World to get what he needed; he'd get distracted by something and forget what he'd gone there for. There were so many things in that World that could drive his father to distraction, such as the different shapes and sizes of their coins—or the chased designs on their backs. Charlie had certainly been fascinated by them when they'd been passed around during a Muggle Studies lesson. He tightened his hold on Ron's hand as his brother tugged at it again; he murmured, "No, Ron."

He wondered what the turn of the century had in store for those Muggle coins—Charlie couldn't wait to see them. Especially their designs of the Queen. Charlie wasn't named for royalty—as his mum was wont to boast to Muggleborn and halfblood acquaintances—but he still had a healthy fascination with the Royal family. Their history was just so rich, certainly richer than that of Charlie's distant relatives, the Blacks'—and wouldn't that just stick in their craw if they knew...

Charlie, smirking a little, was jolted out of his musings by a man in too-bright robes sitting outside the Parlor. His hand was raised in a wave and he had just called out, "Arthur." There was a girl, about Ginny's age, sitting by him and tucking into a rather colourful sundae (which had Ron whining and trying to pull away all over again).

The man's geniality was infectious; even though the blonde wizard wasn't addressing him, Charlie wanted to grin and wave back.

Arthur Weasley didn't feel the same.

His father didn't stop, like he usually would; he merely acknowledged the younger man with a nod and wan smile.

"Who was that?" Charlie asked curiously, as they walked straight past the double doors of the Ice Cream Parlor—to a quietly sulking Ron's dismay.

"Xenophilius Lovegood, kin to Lucius Malfoy. A Slytherin, too—just a few years younger..." Charlie wasn't shocked to find that his father's distracted mutterings explained everything. "He resembles him a bit—don't you think?" Those words were said in a murmur, like his father was undecided in saying them, like he was thinking aloud.

Regardless, Charlie looked closer at the man. His hair was dirty-blonde—not silvery—yet he wore it long like Malfoy senior. But it wasn't _as_ long, barely reaching the collar of his outlandish robes—and it was messier. Definitely messier. The man was pale, like Malfoy and his ilk, but his features weren't as pointed. He didn't remind Charlie of a ferret, but maybe a fox... Maybe.

If his eyes weren't so pale and unnerving—even from this distance—and if he was straight-faced, he might have even been handsome. In an eccentric sort of way.

Charlie squinted, sure that if he tilted his head, he _might_ see the resemblance to Lucius Malfoy. But Lovegood was smiling, and it was full of warmth as he tweaked the little girl's nose and she giggled. There could _almost_ be something aristocratic about Lovegood's visage, but Charlie was distracted from the possibility by the crinkles near the blonde's eyes, by the wide curve of his mouth, the flash of white teeth.

Charlie didn't think he'd ever seen anything more than a smirk or a sneer on Lucius Malfoy's face. Not even directed towards his wife and son.

In contrast, this man was openly, _publicly_, warm and affectionate towards the girl who might be his daughter. They were laughing together, even now (so it was hard to see any resemblance—if there was any at all).

Charlie looked away, dismissing the twinge in his stomach—which he _refused_ to think of as longing (how long had it been since he'd been swept up in one of his father's bear hugs? In public or behind the leaning walls of their home?).

"Suppose you can't help who you resemble," his father was muttering to himself.

But Charlie thought that if this man, this Slytherin kin to Lucius Malfoy, had been simply a Slytherin, or a Malfoy relative—one or the other, and not both—things would have been different.

Would Ron say, "Bad," as he pointed at Xenophilius?

Would Ginny, looking over their father's shoulder, nod with all the sageness of a four year old in reply?

(Because children could pick up on things like that, especially Weasley children.)

Charlie took one last look at the smiling man and his young, probable daughter. Then, as he admonished Ron for pointing (which was Not Nice), Charlie thought to himself, _you can't help who you're related to._


	15. xv: intimate

**Written for the Family Boot Camp challenge.**

Nympadora's house was different from Charlie's own—so very different.

He was quite bewildered at that the first time he slept over in his third year, after he'd spent Christmas day with his family. The house was so quiet at night; there was no clanking plumbing—only the hum of the heating when it turned off and on—and, of course there were no siblings to awaken the house with their cries, no creaky floorboards as no one had to get up to tend to them. Even outside was deadly silent, only the occasional drunkard or vehicle passing by.

And breakfast was different. Quiet chatter filled the air, no one was rushing to snatch up food, fill their plates. If something had to be said, everyone's voices were heard—because they could be heard.

Nympadora had said that her house was a bit lonely, but Charlie didn't think so; he loved it—and her family. Charlie could almost imagine having a home like theirs someday. Almost.

But there was still something that made him tense, waiting for the illusion to shatter. It stopped Charlie from letting himself relax and enjoy himself completely. It wasn't until the day he was leaving that he realised there was to be no shattering because there was no illusion. This was real. It wasn't just a show they'd put on for their guest, it was real.

But of course that realisation came too late—just as Charlie was getting ready to floo back home, in fact.

His chest was tight as he looked at the fireplace.

"Ready to go, Charlie?" Andromeda asked. Ted had gone to work hours ago, and Nympadora was upstairs in her room. She hadn't wanted to see him go, just like he hadn't wanted to go.

No, Charlie thought in silent response to andromeda's question. He wanted to ask if he could stay, he want to ask so badly, but he thought he might be overstaying his welcome.

"Charlie?" He looked into Andromeda's eyes, his tongue loosening at the genuine concern he saw there, and the affection, too—that was no illusion.

"Can I... Do you think I could stay here a little bit longer, please?" It was the affection that did it; he wouldn't have said that otherwise. That was what he told himself as he waited patiently for her answer.

Andromeda sighed, "Your mother wants you home, Charlie."

Disappointment flooded him, and he almost wilted like a flower, but he set his back and his shoulders, kept his chin up. He wouldn't show it. But he must have forgotten something—his expression!—because Andromeda looked at him and pondered aloud, "I could talk to her, say that we're all having a wonderful time and wouldn't mind you extending your stay..."

Charlie's eyes widened, "Would you really?"

Andromeda's response was a smile. Then she said, "Oh, go on, run up and tell Nympadora. Maybe it'll get her to stop sulking, and you for that matter—and," she lowered her voice, "don't say I told you, but—Ted as well."

She winked at him and Charlie grinned. (Former Slytherin or no, he really liked Andromeda—there was never any falsity with her, not like with other adults Charlie knew.)

That grin was still on his face as he ran upstairs, calling, "Oh, Nympadora! Guess what?"


End file.
